Yummy
by Fangirl1313
Summary: Who ever thought little chibi Canada would snap? Warning: Contains gore and cannibalism.


**AN: I'll keep this short but I feel inclined to warn you, this contains a lot of messed up stuff in this. And no it is not a lemon. Just one f***ed-up snapped Canada fanfiction.**

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"Mon cheri! I'm home.

The words seemed to echo in the large home. Normally the Frenchman would be promptly greeted by his little ange, Mathieu. The young boy would race down the stairs, white dressed pressed against his thin body as he raced to his papa. His clear, indigo eyes would light up with the joy of seeing his papa again. His blond hair would be blown back from his face from the speed of his running. His little legs would run at full speed towards the Frenchmen before he crashed into him, almost tackling the older nation. The Frenchman would smile and hold the small boy close, whispering sweet French words of comfort and greeting into the tiny Canadian's hair. He would pet the soft blond locks and hold him tight, grateful he could still hold the small boy and call him his own, grateful that Arthur had not managed to take the small boy from him yet, and grateful that the Canadian was still his and unharmed at his home. The little Canadian would smile and cling to him desperately, glad that his papa was home, alive and healthy. The small boy would eventually turn his head up and stare into the Frenchmen's eyes. The two's eyes would stare into each other for a time, clear indigo staring into solid blue, the moment would be sweet and heart-felt before it would eventually be broken.

But today, there was no Canadian. The small boy appeared to be absent. This thought caused the Frenchman to freeze in complete horror. Had the tiny Canadian left? Was he out? Had Arthur caught him? Had he disappeared? His entire body seemed to freeze at the terror that went through him with these thoughts. He couldn't waste time humoring these thoughts, however and dashed up the main entrance's stairs that led to the second floor.

He checked every room on the second floor, where his precious Mathieu preferred it, before heading down to the first floor. He checked the living room, the bathrooms, the closets, and finally the kitchen. In retrospect he should have check the kitchen first, but little Canada rarely ate anything in the Frenchmen's presence, and only than when the elder nation offered him some; because if he had went to the kitchen first he would have seen small Canada, leisurely drinking from a glass that seemed too big for his hands of maple syrup while he sat calmly on the counter.

"Mathieu! I was so worried, mon Dieu! You almost gave me a heart attack!" As he said this, Francis walked over to the cabinet and grabbed himself a glass and a wine bottle before pouring himself a glass. He stood and watched his little Canadian before taking a sip and wondering out loud. "You seem awfully quiet today, is something the matter, mon cheri?"

The tiny Canadian stared up into his papa's eyes and seemed to ponder the question. Something the matter? Hm, what an interesting thought. The seconds stretched into minutes and before the Canadian even blinked ten minutes had passed, but then, finally, he spoke. "No,"

"If you say so, mon ami." The Frenchmen then turned around to pour himself some more wine. He had just lifted his foot to take a step towards the table where the wine bottle was before he felt a heavy weight slam into his back, pushing him forward and onto the ground. He felt his head hit the ground and the wine glass break in his hand. As he struggle to regain his balance, and make his head stop spinning from the blow it just took, he slowly came to the realization that it had been Canada that hit him and was what was now sitting on his back.

"Can- Canada?" The Frenchmen's voice was shaky and soft, but still audible.

"Yes?" The tiny boy replied softly as he picked up a piece of what used to be the wine glass's stem and examined the now pointed tip.

"Why did you do that?" Francis said, turning his head to the side, staring up at the Canadian.

"Why? Hm…. Well I suppose it was so I could do this." As the words left his mouth, the tiny Canadian gripped the glass like a dagger and lifted his arm.

The Frenchmen's eyes widened and as he flipped over. He quickly grabbed the Canadian's wrists and pinned him to the ground as he did so.

"C-Can- Canada?" His voice was shaky from shock and terror. His little Canadian had just almost attacked him… why?

"Let go." Was all the Canadian said voice stone cold and face expressionless. He seemed somehow angry. Despite his voice and expression being perfectly calm his eyes seem to scream danger. Danger that if you did not do as he said he would make you pay.

"I do not think that is a good idea, mon ami." The older nation said in an attempt to stay in control of the situation.

The Canadian simply stared at him, after about ten minutes of staring his expression contorted into a single, demented grin. "If you won't let me go, I'll just have to make you."

As the young Frenchman turned his head in confusion, the Canadian rolled his shoulders, effectively popping them. His grin remained in place as he lunged up in surprising speed, for someone his age, and bit into the wrist of the hand that was holding his own down. As the tiny white teeth of the Canadian bit into the Frenchman's skin the elder man could only watch in pure terror. After holding the bite for a moment or two, blood began to drip down the young boys chin. The moment the blood started to slide down the Canadian's chin, the Frenchman flung the boy away and sat panting in horror against the lower cabinets.

"Canada? What's going- what's going on?" His voice seemed to have raised an octave due to his terror and his eyes were wild with pure, uncensored fear.

"Nothing, loving papa of mine." Was all the Canadian muttered as he lunged forward and plunged the sharp shard of glass in his small hands into his papa's heart.

"What happened?" The Frenchman wondered out loud as he finally came to. Last time the Frenchmen check he had came home to his little Canadian trying to kill him, the boy had stabbed him, and…. then what?

"Nothing really." Said Canadian said as he swung his legs playfully from his spot on the counter top as he drank a sip of maple syrup from his glass. "I should have realized you would give me trouble. I guess next time; I'll just poison them first." The Frenchmen watched in horror as the Canadian took another sip. "You see, since you're a nation the only way you can die is if your head got severed completely. Well, since that means you won't die from pretty much whatever I do I figured I'd put it to use. Normally, I would experiment on mom, or Alfred, but I don't think that would be as much fun." At this point the small Canadian took another sip from his glass of maple syrup and stared the Frenchman in the eyes. "I really should have used poison on your wine; it would have saved me so much trouble. But I don't have to worry about that now." The tiny Canadian whispered with a flick of his hand before hopping of the counter and heading to the bottle of maple syrup on the counter top with the obvious intention to get himself some more.

The Frenchman toke this moment to examine the situation he was now in. While he was unconscious it seemed the Canadian had taken the time to rob him of all his clothes but his pants. He had also decided it would be a good idea to tie/handcuff his hands and legs to a chair, which was now bolted down in the middle of the kitchen. The Frenchmen couldn't see where the table had been moved from where he sat but he had a feeling it hadn't been moved very far. He took and extra minute to pull at the handcuffs with no success.

"It's useless, you know. This plan is full proof. I've been planning it for years and there are no holes, no escape routes, no flaws, no errors, and no way will I let you go until I am done, and even then it will just be your dead body." Or part of your body the young Canadian's brain finished to himself.

Suddenly the stove beeped. The Frenchman's head snapped in the direction of the sound as the Canadian stared at it quietly. It seemed that the stove had finished pre-heating and was ready for something to be placed on the burner. The Canadian simply walked over and placed a pot that seemed to have something in it already on the burner.

"It seems I'm running behind schedule, oh well." The tiny boy simply said as he turned back to his papa. He then began to grin, that ugly grin that had appeared earlier and walked towards the now squirming with fear Frenchmen.

"Canada?" The man said shakily, fearing what the small boy would do to him. The Canadian was only two yards away before he stopped. The Canadian abruptly turned and yanked open a cabinet. As he seemed to search for a bowl the Frenchmen let his thoughts wander. What did little Mathieu want? Why was he doing this? What was going on?

Finally, the tiny Canadian climbed back out with a large metal bowl in his hands. He set the bowl on the ground before he climbed up onto the counter once more. This time instead of grabbing his glass of maple syrup he simply grabbed a small knife from their block of wood that held all of the knives. The knife seemed to be perfect for him; small enough to fit comfortably into his hand and yet big enough to be able to do damage. After examining the knife he set it on the counter and pulled out a couple more, placing the knives next to each other as he did so finally picking a knife up and keeping it in his hand, before he hoped off the counter and onto the floor. He looked at his papa and let his grin spread across his face again as he walked forward, tiny knife in one hand and bowl being held in the other. When he was about a yard away he set the bowl on the ground and put the knife in his mouth. With his now free hands he popped his knuckles and rolled his shoulders. After a moment of staring he took the knife from his mouth and walked so that he was standing right in front of the Frenchman's knees.

"Canada?" The Frenchman asked, feeling repetitious that he was asking the same question over and over again but still not all that annoyed considering he wasn't ever getting an answer.

"Quiet." The voice was barely Canada's and as he spoke his smile faltered and his expression became annoyed. It remained that way until he climbed into the Frenchman's lap and straddled his legs, as he did this his expression returned to his devilish smirk.

The Canadian seemed to be enjoying himself as he lifted the blade up close to his face and Francis's chest to re-examine it. He smiled at it before turning it around so the tip of the blade touched directly under the Frenchman's collar bone and a little to the left of the Frenchman's chin. The Canadian's grin only grew as he dragged the knife over the skin for about an inch, just hard enough for the skin to become red from a cut but not enough to produce any blood. He listened for a second as the Frenchman whimpered in pleasure.

"You know, it's a good thing you're still young because if you were much older you'd have chest hair and that'd be disgusting." The Canadian said calmly as though this was a nice compliment to say.

The Frenchmen had never before hated the fact that he was still only a teenager physically so much. He always felt young but he knew that mentally he was much older than he appeared. But unfortunately it seemed his lack of aging would be his downfall. "Canada, please stop this- uh!"

The Frenchman was frozen with pleasure at what the Canadian was doing. Earlier the Frenchman had wondered why the cut was so small, but now it made sense to him. The Canadian had placed his mouth over the inch long cut and had begun to suck on it. Lapping at the wound like it was candy. Normally, this wouldn't have gotten such a reaction from the Frenchman if it hadn't been the one spot that turned him on every time.

"Toni wrote about this in one of his journals in case you're wondering. Coincidentally, the journal he left here after that time he spent the night." Memories of the hot night spent with the Spaniard flashed into the Frenchman's mind at these words and wondered how Canada had found out, but was quickly distracted as he heard Canada chuckle.

"Naughty, naughty papa." The Canadian said with a giggle. Francis only had a minute to wonder why until the Canadian clenched his legs on France's and pushed down. Only now did France realize that from Canada's sucking and biting he had become slightly hard and from the dark tone in Canada's voice he couldn't help but feel more turned on. In all honesty he liked handcuffs but this was his Mathieu! He was a child! Get a grip he told himself. "Don't worry papa, you won't feel good for long." Despite the reassurance in the Canadian's voice, it wasn't reassuring.

To silence the Frenchman the Canadian simply removed his mouth and grinned at his papa. After a moment he twisted his knife around in his hand and held it above his head like a dagger before thrusting it into the Frenchmen's chest with all the force his small body could muster.

Canada was rewarded with a scream of agony from his loving care taker. The Frenchman jerked and tried to twist away from the knife in pain, screams echoing in the house. The Canadian just held tight, more than happy than to have to hold onto Francis as he tried to throw him off. Slowly, the Frenchman's fighting and jerking slowed down to small, quiet whimpers. Canada frowned; he loved his papa's musical screams of pain. He pondered this for a moment before he decided the blood gurgling from the wound and onto the blade, and his hand, wasn't enough so he spiced things up by twisting the knife in the wound. Fresh screams of pain echoed through the house.

After a minute or two the Canadian removed the knife from the wound, pleased with the blood now dripping down Francis's chest.

The Canadian ignored the pleading look in France's eyes as he place the knife to the original wound. "Don't worry papa, you won't have to worry about any more annoying feelings from this area once I'm done." With this the Canadian slid the knife back along the original cut and pushed the blade harder, much harder. The screams at this point were deafening, they were the sounds of someone truly wishing they could just die already but unfortunately for the Frenchman, he would only die when little Mathieu let him.

The Canadian simply smiled at his care taker's futile efforts to free himself; instead of stopping he just pulled the knife along the bottom of the man before him's collar bone. After that, he pulled the knife straight down from the end of the cut and the beginning before connecting the two bottoms of the line to make a nice rectangle. The man before the Canadian was simply crying at this point from the unadulterated pain he was feeling.

The Canadian paused at this point and examined the beautiful rectangle of crimson he had created. He was admiring it when he looked back to the second wound he had made from twisting the knife. He turned his head and lightly touched it with his fingers, staining them red and his expression became one of curiosity. He dipped his fingers, one by one into the wound, soaking them with the crimson substance. He then took them out and examined them. The crimson blood fascinated him as though it had the power to enchant. He eventually took a figure gingerly to his mouth and licked it.

Immediately his expression turned to one of pleasure as he moaned at the perfectness of the blood. It tasted heavenly to him. His moans became louder as he slowly licked the blood off of each of his fingers; reveling in the taste of the wonderful liquid. After half a second's pause he lunged forward. This time putting his mouth over the hole that he had gotten the blood from. After a moment of licking the blood from the edges he slid his tongue into the hole he had gotten from twisting his knife. He licked and sucked and moaned in sheer ecstasy as he drank in the wonderful substance. His hands grabbed tightly to France's chest smearing it with blood as the Canadian tried to keep his calm. Finally he gave in and gave one last loud moan before he pulled his tongue out or the wound. The small Canadian breathed heavily as he rested his head on the Frenchman's chest. Finally, he refocused his mind and smiled sweetly at his now utterly horrified care taker.

Francis's mind was one the verge of a breakdown as he thought about what had just happened. His innocent, precious, quiet, timid Canada had just… from drinking blood… oh fuck. He didn't get long to think though because Canada quickly retook up his train of thought and returned to the original thing he had been doing. Francis had been wondering why Canada had cut a rectangle in his chest but now it made sense. Unfortunately there was nothing the Frenchman could do as the young Canadian lifted his hand to the top of the rectangle and dug his fingers into the top of the rectangle and pulled down. He managed to tear a large chunk of meat off and walked over and placed it softly into the bowl he had set out earlier. As the Canadian walked back over to the Frenchman he sighed when he realized that the man had blacked out from pain. Instead of waking him, the Canadian just settled to continue what he really should've been doing.

He picked up the silver bowl that contained the flesh and placed the meat into a strainer and placing the strainer on a plate, letting the blood collect on the fine porcelain. The Canadian happily picked up a knife he set out earlier and sliced the flesh into smaller strips that would easily fit into his mouth. After making sure the majority of the blood had dripped onto the plate, Canada washed off the meat with hot water from the sink. After he made sure the meat was clean he walked over to the stove. He then carefully added the meat piece by piece to the stew like food he had been preparing. Once all the meat was nicely cooking he turned to the plate of blood and used a funnel to pour it into a glass. He took a small sip from the glass before pausing quietly and considering it. It needed something… oh of course! To make up for the lack of fresh blood feel he had from drinking blood straight from Francis, he had to add something to the blood to compensate, he almost didn't think of it but then he realized that it would go perfectly with maple syrup. So he retrieved his glass from earlier and poured the blood into it. He then retrieved a spoon from the drawer and stirred it for a minute or two before taking a sip. It tasted heavenly. He quickly chugged the rest of the glass before falling and leaning against the counter. His devilish grin returned to his face as he watched Francis come to again.

This time the Canadian wasted no time in pushing the bowl closer to the terrified Frenchman and selecting a sharp small knife to assist him. The Canadian giggled at the horrified look on France's face as he placed himself in the Frenchman's lap again. The Canadian's face, hands, and what used to be his pure white dress, were now stained with dried drops of blood. He looked straight from hell and the Frenchman couldn't help but cower in fear at what the tiny boy was going to do next. The Canadian simply smiled in response and plunged the tiny knife into the Frenchman's neck; thankfully the knife was too small for it to even come close to severing France's head. Unfortunately, it was excruciatingly painful to have the Canadian lean up against his missing part of his chest. The Canadian ignored the cries of pain as he leaned against his caretaker and began to suck blood from the freshly made wound on his neck. Again the little boy moaned in pleasure but did not give himself into the feeling and instead of continuing to suck the wound until he pulled away. He then gingerly lifted the knife to his mouth as he licked it, careful not to cut his tongue, demented grin returning.

He then adjusted the grip on his knife before placing it back into the wound. The tiny Canadian grinned devilishly as he yanked the knife down and in a circular motion this time. He then lifted his free hand and tore off the partially cut flesh. He examined it in his hand before he threw it carelessly into the metal bowl on the floor.

Francis could only watch in horror as the Canadian took his own time in cutting out various pieces of flesh from the Frenchman, a piece from his neck, his chest, his leg, and his arm, it didn't seem to matter. The Canadian seemed to pick the pieces he would take carefully. After he tore off a piece he would lick the wound until it stopped bleeding, moaning as he did so. The pain made, what was most likely minutes, feel like hours. He had no way of telling how much time had passed. All he could tell was it had been a while since he had returned home. After a while he felt his body weaken and he fell into the warm comforting darkness that was unconsciousness.

This time, the man was only unconscious for a few minutes. The tiny Canadian had utilized this time to finish retrieving meat from Francis and place it into the bowl. He then had taken the meat and put in the strainer, again cutting it into small pieces and draining the blood away. Once finished, he washed the meat off and placed it into a smaller bowl made of fine porcelain. He then took the bowl and placed it in front of where Francis sat on the counter. He stood for a moment before taking the blood from the plate and pouring it into a glass of maple syrup and mixed the two substances together once again. He smiled slightly to himself as he placed his cup next to the bowl of raw meat and sat next to it on the counter, feet hanging off and swinging cheerfully as he waited for Francis to regain consciousness.

When the Frenchman regained consciousness, he felt exhausted. His body was drained of what seemed like all of his energy and he didn't even bother to try and move; he already knew it was impossible.

He groggily raised his head and looked at the tiny Canadian sitting on the counter in front of him. The boy seemed to have a plate of raw meat next to him and a glass of maple syrup mixed with something in his hand. The small boy's eyes stared into the Frenchman's, daring him to say something. When the Canadian was greeted with silence he frowned. After a moment or two of frowning he grinned devilishly and took a piece of meat from the plate next to him and placed it into his mouth. As the boy chewed, his grin only grew in size and he got a horribly demonic glint in his eyes.

As the Frenchman watched he slowly put two and two together in his head. The moment he realized it he felt stomach bile fill his mouth. His eyes widened in horror as he closed his mouth and swallowed it. Normally, he would just spit it out, but as his shoulders jerked forward Canada got a disapproving look in his eyes that read if he did puke, Canada would make sure the Frenchman would never be able to puke again.

After a moment or two the Frenchman managed to push the bile back down and regain control of his body. 'Canada… is eating… me.' Was the thought that finally managed to come into France's mind as he thought about what he had just witnessed.

The Canadian simply smiled as the Frenchman's eyes met his own once more. After eating a few more pieces of the raw meat Canada took a sip from his glass of maple syrup and sighed deeply.

After the Canadian smiled to himself for a few minutes the timer went off alerting him to the stove. France turned his head as little Canada walked over to the stove and removed the pot from the burner. The Canadian seemed to be humming to himself as he retrieved a bowl from the cupboard and filled it with the contents of the pot, something that seemed to be somewhat like a stew in appearance.

After filling the bowl the Canadian retrieved a spoon from a nearby drawer and walked towards Francis. The small Canadian stopped and turned to look at the Frenchman when he was directly in front of the other nation. The boy, then, pulled himself into the other man's lap, this time careful not to touch any wounds. He stared carefully into the Frenchman's eyes before speaking.

"You're hungry, eat." The boy's words were soft as he spoke them. After a second or two of silence passed he carefully picked up a bite of stew with the spoon, making sure to get a piece of the meat, and lifted it to Francis's mouth.

The elder nation stared at the young boy for a moment before opening his mouth, allowing the boy to put the spoon into his mouth.

The Frenchman slowly chewed the food. It was well cooked, indeed, and certainly had had a lot of time put into it. The flavor was exquisite in fact, and after a moment of two he felt safe to swallow it figuring something this delicious couldn't possibly be wasted by having poison inserted into it. He opened his mouth again and the tiny Canadian in his lap simply smiled slightly and gave him another spoonful. The Frenchman couldn't help but ponder what type of meat the tiny Canadian used as he chewed the meat gingerly. It tasted good, very good in fact, but he couldn't put his finger on the type of meat that was used. It wasn't beaver, moose, bear, salmon, duck, goose, chicken, cow, pig, sheep, dove, deer, or even goat. So what was it? He was about to voice this question when tiny Canada spoke up.

"Do you like it?" The voice was as soft as always and his eyes were curious as he looked at the Frenchman. By now, there was only a bite or two of stew left in the bowl.

"Yes, very good, you are an excellent cook my little Mathieu…" The Frenchman could only hope that maybe Canada would feel guilty from the praise and let him go, it was a pathetic hope indeed and he really didn't think it would work, but it was worth a shot.

"You are so pathetic." The Canadian said as he stared hatefully into his papa's eyes. After a moment the Canadian grabbed the bowl and lifted it to his lips as he opened his mouth, allowing the remainder of the stew to pour into his mouth. The Canadian simply glared as he carefully hoped off his caretaker's lap. The Canadian seemed to be talking to himself quietly as he set the bowl on the counter and walked to his own plate of food. Once he reached it, he took it from the counter and held it in his hands as he turned and faced Francis. His expression had lost the amusement it had held up to this point. He stared directly into the Frenchman's eyes as he grabbed the last of the meat on the plate with his tiny hand and shoved it into his mouth. He slowly managed to chew it and once he was done he threw the plate at the wall, causing it to shatter upon contact. "In fact, you disgust me." The Canadian said angrily as he took his cup of maple syrup, mixed with who knows what, and downed it all in one gulp. Upon finishing he threw the glass forcefully at the floor, sending glass everywhere. The boy's eyes never left the Frenchman's as he reached behind himself and grabbed the large knife from the counter behind him.

"I expected better from you." The Canadian said angrily as he walked towards the Frenchman holding the knife dangerously tightly in his small hand. "I really did." The Canadian said softly as he pulled himself back up into the Frenchman's lap. "In fact, now, you're just boring." The Canadian said as he pulled the knife up to his chest. "This was a waste of time." As the Canadian said this, he positioned the knife to Francis's neck. The knife was large enough and the chunks of meat taken were large enough that if Canada pushed, the insanely large knife through the Frenchman's neck, he would die.

"Mathieu! Please! We can talk this through! If you just let me go I swear I'll forget about it and not tell anyone! Please, just, put the knife down!" The Frenchman's pleas got louder as he saw Mathieu adjust his grip on the knife, it finally sinking in that Mathieu was going to kill him in cold blood. "Please! Please don't!" The pleas got more in more desperate and Mathieu simply stared at his papa.

"Shut up!" The boy yelled as he slapped the elder nation across the face out of anger. The Frenchman's pleas ceased.

A few minutes passed before the Canadian looked into Francis's eyes once more and glared at him. "I fucking hate you, you're pathetic and I hope you rot in Hell." The words echoed through the home as the tiny Canadian pushed with all his strength on the knife, successfully severing the man before him's head.

"Sh… don't cry Matthew… Francis loved you very much; he wouldn't want you to cry…" The Englishman gently wrapped his arms around his son in an attempt to comfort him. England didn't know how to comfort the boy. He could only imagine the horrible scene that the boy must've seen. Arthur had seen the crime scene photos and blood had been everywhere, it must have been something that appeared straight out of a nightmare. The poor Canadian had been the one to find the body. The boy had just returned from the market when he discovered the body. The small boy had raced to England's own home, sobbing loudly in horror as he jumped into the British nation's arms. England squeezed the boy closer to him as he whispered soft words of comfort to the tiny Canadian. Arthur swore from that day onward to protect the small boy with every ounce of energy he had, he only hoped it would be enough to protect him.

Unknown to Arthur the grimace he thought he felt Canada give into his shoulder as he hugged him wasn't a grimace at all, it was a smile.

"Don't worry Matthew, we'll catch whoever did this."


End file.
